No back up, no fucking backup, as per fucking usual. And 'hazardous weather conditions', so extraction would take forever. Clint had Amanda huddled up in his arms, sheltering her as best he could between his body and a sparse tree. They had to get here soon, they had to. She was bleeding out. They had to come soon.

XXXXX

Clint sat outside the room, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He'd been there in the hospital for four days now, sometimes he'd sit inside her room, sometimes he'd sit outside, watching in through the window - it upset him too much to be in the room all the time. The mission went bad from the get go; the Russians had known they were coming and the element of surprise was turned against the team of two. Natasha should have been there, but she'd been sent on another mission by herself. Clint and Amanda had made fair progress irregardless, but they'd been swamped – the Russians teamed up against them, cornered them and Amanda had gone down.

Clint got to his feet, walked across the corridor and stood at the window, hands in his pockets, watching her breathe shallowly. He'd made it out, somehow; he still couldn't figure that one out, how he'd got through and she'd ended up like this - on the edge between life and death, helpless with nothing he could do about it. Amanda had lost so much blood, sustained blunt force trauma to the back of her head, internal bruising, cracked ribs, the cold hadn't helped anything, she was unconscious in minutes. Clint had feared for her life, and still did. If she didn't wake up soon… well, with Coulson on mission, the doctors had already had the conversation with him about turning off the machines.

Six hours, six hours Clint had waited for an emergency evac - hazardous fucking weather conditions, unsafe to fly; it could never be simple, could it. He rubbed his face, trying to wake himself up a little. Quietly he pushed the door open and stepped inside, closing it behind him. He walked across the room, wondering why he was putting himself through this again.

He sat on the edge of the bed, gently running his fingers through her hair. She hadn't moved an inch and the doctor's words were ringing in his head. Not happening. He wasn't letting it happen, not to her. "Come on honey, wake up. Just wake up, come on, for me. Please, I need you to talk to me Manda, because they're saying things I don't like out here; I need you to wake up for me Darling please."

Did she…? Had her eyes flickered? Or was it just over thinking and wishful thinking? He whispered her name, "Come on, honey please - you're so close, just open your eyes. Open your eyes Amanda, for me."

There. He hadn't imagined that. Not that time. More insistently he said her name, over and over, pleading for her to wake up. She has to wake up. He needed her to wake up, however selfish it may be.

But there was no further response. And slowly he felt like giving up. He sighed heavily, stood, pulled a chair to the bedside and sat, waiting, for anything. Clint folded his arms on the edge of the bed, resting his head on his arms and closing his eyes.

An hour passed, then two. Clint stayed as still as though he were in a coma also. Visiting hours weren't a problem here, thankfully, so he wouldn't be bothered. If his mind hadn't been so busy, so full, he probably would have fallen asleep.

Inches from his arm, her delicate fingers twitched, once, then again. There was a pause, no movement, not indication of alertness. Her fingers twitched again.

Lips parted slowly, a breath was sucked in through her dry throat. "Clint?"

His head snapped up, staring. Had she…?

Amanda coughed, then with difficulty opened her eyes, "Clint"